


coldest dark and brightest light

by IrenkaFeralKitty



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Fix-It, Frostbite, Isolation, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Recovery, amputation mention
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-06
Updated: 2020-09-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:14:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22146997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IrenkaFeralKitty/pseuds/IrenkaFeralKitty
Summary: Hoth had been a horrific, miserable nightmare of a planet. It still haunted Wes’s nightmares to this day. So naturally, he couldn’t resist returning there.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 17
Collections: WIP Big Bang 2020





	1. Chapter 1

This was dumb. This was incredibly dumb but Wes couldn’t stop his hands from moving over the controls as he guided his transport down to the snow and ice covered planet below. 

“You just need a day or so to make repairs,” he muttered to himself as he followed a vaguely remembered flight path. “So why not set down on the most miserable ball of kriffing ice in the galaxy? No one will be looking for a lone transport here. It worked out  _ so well _ last time.”

Round, snowy lumps appeared in the viewport. The remains of the old Echo Base shield generator. 

There were a dozen other worlds he could have chosen to stop at to make repairs, so naturally, he’d chosen  _ this world.  _ This miserable excuse for planet that held many of his worst memories. 

“It’s not like there’s anyone to tell me not to,” Wes growled into the air. He activated one of his lasers, powered it way down, and started blasting at what he thought was the iced over hangar doors of Echo Bases’s north entrance. 

He was alone, save for a cargo droid down in storage bay. It only spoke binary and made for very poor company. Wes had done his best to bug the other surviving Rogues and Red Squadron pilots to come with him but no one had agreed. Everyone was busy with something. 

Even Wedge had refused. Of course, being tortured by an Imperial Grand Admiral made for an excellent excuse. No one just bounced back from that. 

Wedge deserved time to heal. His body may have been restored to him but his mind was still suffering. Wes could still see how stiffly Wedge held himself, the way he flinched when someone suddenly came up out of nowhere behind him. When he wasn’t on a mission or making eyes at the woman who’d helped rescue him, it was pretty clear that Wedge was still struggling with some very deep wounds. 

Wes had spent plenty of time sitting next to Wedge on a couch helping keep the nightmares at bay by talking about whatever innocuous subject he could think of or watching terrible holodramas with him.

They were almost done with Tetran Cowall’s holofilm collection. If Wes ever met the actor in person, he didn’t know if he would rather hug or punch him. The holos were  _ terrible _ but in a way that was funny, rather than painful.

Well, Wedge thought they were funny. And that was what mattered in the end, wasn’t it?

The ship’s laser suddenly flashed as it finally punched through the ice and fired into the open space behind the door. There was a nice size hole in said hangar doors now, large enough for Wes to insert the nose of his ship so he could brute force his way in.

The scraping sound of metal and ice dragging along the hull was terrible, as were the indignant protests of the cargo hauler droid that screeched at him through the ship’s intercom. It didn’t take too long, though, before Wes had maneuvered the transport completely into the hanger and set it down in the middle of the open space.

“Okay, just make the repairs and get out,” Wes told himself as he began shutting down everything but the environmental control systems. He just needed to make some minor repairs to the hyperdrive motivator and then he could leave. That was it. That was all. 

Wes’s feet slowed as he left the cockpit and headed towards the engine room, then stopped at the boarding hatch. 

Even with the environmental controls still running at full blast, he could have sworn he could feel the horrific, biting cold waiting for him outside. He remembered sleepless nights curled up next to another pilot or two as they all tried to get warm. Bare skin to skin had been the way to go but also with their clothes stuffed under the blankets with them to keep them from freezing. Modesty had evaporated in the face of that terrible, terrible cold. 

Meals lost their heat in moments, caf was poured into small thermal cups to give them even a chance at warming their insides, and even flight patrol duty hadn’t provided much relief. 

More fingers, toes, and other manipulating organs were lost on Hoth than in any single or series of battles they’d faced. Beings from races like Wookies or Lasat that normally went shoeless donned rough soled leather slippers to save themselves from frostbite and everyone heard their bitter complaints about the strange feeling of confinement. 

Hoth had been a horrific, miserable nightmare of a planet. It still haunted Wes’s nightmares to this day.

He forced himself away from the hatch. He needed his cold weather gear if he was going to go look around.   


* * *

The cold hit him like a thousand knives piercing his skin. For a few moments, Wes could almost feel his blood freeze solid. He shoved his hands deeper into his pockets, wishing he’d remembered to pack gloves. It was even worse than he’d remembered. 

Trying to ignore the horrible cold biting his face, Wes slowly made his way down the ramp, eyes and head rotating to look around. 

There was more here than he’d thought there would be. The Empire hadn’t stripped everything after the battle, and snow and ice covered crates and lumps that marked forgotten gear and other things littered across the ground. 

A shudder ran through him when he stepped off the ramp that had nothing to do with the temperature. 

Over there was where Leia had given the Rogues their orders for defending the evacuation. 

Han and Chewie had been eternally working in repairing the  _ Millennium Falcon _ on the far side of the hangar, screaming instructions at each other for hours and hours each day. 

He could just make out the hallway to the crew quarters where the mechanics slept and a taller snowy mound that marked the table where they’d played sabacc and scammed young, inexperienced pilots out of credits. 

The hangar was barely recognizable, yet everywhere Wes looked, ghosts floated before his eyes of those terrible, wonderful days of the Rebellion at its lowest point. 

Here and there, he could make out black carbon scoring from the battle. There probably weren’t any bodies, as the Empire would have wanted to identify as many Rebels as possible, but there would be many scars from the Imperial invasion. 

The thought of seeing those scars terrified Wes. And yet, he needed to see them. 

He took a deep breath, breathing carefully through the scarf wrapped around his throat and mouth, and started forward.

* * *

The sound of approaching footfalls was barely a whisper but left him shaking beneath his heavy coat because _there_ _wasn’t supposed to be anyone here._

Even smugglers had stopped using what was once a useful, albeit unpleasant, meeting place. It had been over two years now since any ships had landed here. 

His hands trembled as he clutched at his unpowered vibroblade. His blaster was strapped to his side still, but was low on energy. He hadn’t had time to charge it since his last battle, needing to focus instead on more pressing matters. 

Fool. What else mattered but his weapons? Nothing was more important than his ability to defend himself. He was getting too complacent. 

A gesture sent Dib into the air. Her repulsors powered slowly, quietly, and she rotated towards the approaching invasion. Her single, oversized photoreceptor dimmed, then flashed once. 

One being. He could handle that. 

And maybe… just maybe… he could finally leave this miserable, cold place. 

Moving with the stealth borne out of a two year struggle to survive in the face of predators far larger and more powerful than himself, he took up a position against the wall near the door. If the invader was using thermal sensors, no amount of stealth would save him. 

Maybe he’d get lucky for once. Just once. Once would be enough.

A quick set of gestures have Dis her orders and she floated to the center of the room. A shock probe jutted forward, ready to deploy a nasty attack on whoever, or whatever, came through the door.

His heart was pounding. His stomach churned, acid rising in his throat to try and choke him. His shaking hand clutched at his vibroblade, thumb twitching above the power button. He suddenly felt too big and clumsy, too raw and worn down to fight anything head on. He’d survived by being clever. By building traps and finding work-arounds. By staking out a small personal territory most of the native predators grudgingly respected.

He’d lost a lot along the way, and not just flesh. He wasn’t fit for civilized society anymore but he also wanted to not be so  _ fucking cold  _ all the time.

He had to squeeze his eyes shut and concentrate on his breathing while the crunch of boots on snow grew louder. This was his only chance. He had to focus, to remember his long disused hand-to-hand combat training, had to stop clutching his blade like he’d never held one before. 

Force help him. He was going to  _ die  _ here.

The intruder was close, now. Very close. Slowing down, in fact, as it reached the door separating them. 

It had to be using thermals. There was nothing special about this room. Nothing made it stand out save for his memories. The few supplies the Empire hadn’t hauled off and he himself hadn’t pilfered were either in the hanger bay or in storage rooms. 

_ He was being hunted. _

Activating his vibroblade with a vicious snarl, he readied himself to attack. Thermals or no, the invader wouldn’t be expecting  _ him. _

* * *

Wes barely noticed the flickering glint and subtle hum of a vibroblade before he was attacked. Yelping, he dove forward as someone rushed him, narrowly avoiding being stabbed. He rolled to the side, scrambling to get away, and yelped again as blue energy arced through the air from the other direction. 

Rushing to get his feet under him, Wes let his attention narrow to focus on the threat at hand. He fired a shot at the hovering probe droid, then another and another with rapid fire speed until its optical sensor shattered. He did this on the run, dodging out of the way as his attacker lunged at him. 

He spun, bringing his blaster around-

The vibroblade hummed as it lashed out-

Fire erupted across his chest as the blade sliced through his clothes and hit flesh. The sub-zero temperatures attacked and the pain vanished as frostbite set in. 

Wes remembered the medical briefing they’d all been given by a grave-faced Pantoran medic after arriving on Hoth. Pure terror made him drop his blaster and clutch at his chest, pressing his torn clothing against the wound in vain hope of retaining enough body heat not to simply fall over dead from exposure. 

His attacker snatched up his weapon and leveled it at him. “If you don’t want to die, you do exactly what I say.”

“Okay, you win,” Wes said weakly. His heart felt ready to leap out of his chest it was beating so fast. “I need- I need help,” he said, gulping. He could swear ice was spreading throughout his body.

The attacker didn’t reply. Instead, he- it- they lurched sideways, keeping the blaster trained on him while moving towards a set of crates clustered around an emergency shelter set up in a corner of the room. 

Moments later, a roll of gray tape was thrown at him. Wes fumbled to catch it one handed, then risked letting go of his chest to tear off a long strip and begin patching himself up. 

One strip went over the wound itself. More made a rough job of repairing his heavy coat. Each strip he tore from the roll lessened his fear some. Each strip was a little bit of hope, a chance he might not die in the next few minutes. If it wasn’t for the blaster trained on him, Wes might have actually felt calm once he’d finished his patchwork repairs. 

“Now what?” he asked. 

“Dis?”

The floating droid let out an alarmed warble and rotated around to face the attacker. It floated slowly forward, uncertain about where to go now that it had no optical sensors. 

The attacker patted the droid’s round head once it was in reach and it obediently came to a halt. 

“Are you Imperial? Affiliated with the Hutts? Who are you?”

“Imperial?” Wes stared. “Krif, you’ve been here a long time, haven’t you?”

A blast of energy slammed into the ground near his feet. “Answer. The. Question,” his attacker snarled.

“The Empire fell. A little while ago,” Wes replied. “We’re still fighting a remnant of it but they won’t win. They can’t. There aren’t enough of them and their best officers and ships have either been destroyed or captured.”

The attacker stood as frozen as the ice around them. “You’re lying,” they finally said. 

Wes silently cursed the heavy wraps that prevented him from seeing the other being’s face. All he knew for certain was that they were bipedal. Even their voice was muffled. 

“I’m not, I swear.” He pressed a hand to his chest and swallowed. He still couldn’t feel the wound and a chill continued to spread through him, albeit at a slower rate than before. “My name is Wes Janson. I’m a lieutenant commander in the New Republic Starfighter Corp on loan to the Navy for some transport work. I have a ship. I’ll take you wherever you want to go, happily. No one should be stuck on this ball of druk. I, uh, do need medical treatment, though. Soon.”

In an added display of sincerity, Wes slowly pulled his scarf down and pushed his hood back off his head.

The only sound Wes could hear was the quiet hum of repulsors from the droid and harsh breathing from his attacker. 

“Wes?”

His name was spoken in a small, broken voice, filled with equal parts fear and disbelief. 

He flashed the best grin he could manage. “That’s me. And you are…”

The attacker lurched forward with their uneven gait. The blaster dangled to the side while a gloved hand seized Wes’s chin and turned his face different directions.

“Wes.” His name was whispered again with quiet shock and the other being stumbled backwards. 

He endured several moments of incredulous staring before the other being started fumbling with their wrappings. Gloved hands hesitated over the cloth and goggles hiding their face, but eventually, those too were pulled away.

A thick, reddish golden beard was the first thing Wes registered. Then the pale skin beneath it and wild blue eyes. Those eyes were staring at him in wide eyed shock. 

The other being - man? - had long, unkempt hair tied back in a messy tail and several scars covered his face - mostly small, white marks, but also a few longer, angrier looking lines that hinted at having survived a vicious animal attack.

Wes remembered the few specimens of wildlife native to Hoth and shivered in sympathetic fear at what could have caused those injuries.

The man stared at him, throat working as he continued to stare. Those eyes… they were  _ so familiar. _

“Wes,” the man said again in a creaky voice. “It’s me, I’m- We flew together. I remember crashing and then waking up alone. It was cold. It was so kriffing cold and there was no one…”

Shivering, the man looked ready to cry. 

“It’s me, Hobbie.”

For a few seconds, Wes felt like he’d forgotten how to breathe. He stared back, eyes searching out every little detail he’d once known almost as well as his own face. 

And suddenly, he could see it. The long, thin nose was slightly crooked now, the strong chin hidden under the beard, and the hair Hobbie had kept short and neat grown out into an unkempt mess. But he  _ could see it.  _ He saw the familiar low cheekbones, large ears, and wide eyes. Those eyes… he remembered those light blue orbs, even if he’s never seen so much shock and fear in them before. 

Every centimeter of this man was Hobbie, from the small details to the lanky height pushing at the upper limits of the space available in an X-Wing’s cockpit. 

“Hobbie,” Wes said, and his heart ached. He stepped forward, one step, then another, moving slowly but determinedly close. Once he was in reach, he flung his arms around the other man and held him close and tight. 

The man he’d thought dead for two years stood still, almost frozen stiff, before his arms crept hesitantly around Wes. 

“We thought you died,” Wes whispered into Hobbie’s neck. The furs the taller man wore were pungent but Wes didn’t care about that, or the somewhat sour scent wafting up from Hobbie in general.

The arms embracing him tightened and Hobbie’s breath hitched. A face buried itself in his hair and they were both suddenly moments away from bursting into tears. 

Hobbie clutched him tightly, squeezing so hard Wes felt his ribs creak before letting go. “You’re injured,” Hobbie said as he jerked back. “I sliced-“ His jaw slammed shut. 

“My ship’s in the north hangar bay,” Wes said. He grabbed Hobbie hand and tugged him towards the door. 

“Right. Right. Dis!”

The small probe let out a nervous mechanical sound and bobbed forward. Suddenly, it’s long legs and trailing manipulators folded into the bottom of the round head and it shot forward to latch onto Hobbie’s back.

“That’s handy,” Wes noted as he pulled Hobbie into the corridor and towards the waiting transport. 

“She- she’s been good company,” Hobbie stammered. His hand squeezed tight. “I found her. Reprogrammed her. I don’t- don’t think I would have made it without her. She- I was- It, well, there were things…”

Wes nodded, listening as best he could while also conscious that he didn’t really… feel… cold… anymore. Which was bad. 

“Step one is to thaw out, right?” he asked as they hurried through the icy abandoned corridors of Echo Base. On any other world, this wound would have been minor. On Hoth, though, it would mean death if he didn’t start treating it in the next few minutes. 

“And pain meds,” Hobbie replied. ”It’s going to hurt when blood flow returns. Tell me where the medkit is and I’ll fetch for you while you start soaking the wound with warm water.”

“Right.” 

As they entered the hanger and the transport came into view, Wes fumbled for his remote controller and activated the boarding ramp. 

Hobbie froze as the heat from inside the ship rolled down the ramp and hit them. Turning, Wes felt his heart breaking at the sheer shock on Hobbie’s face. 

The fear. 

Hobbie had been alone for two years with just a droid for companionship on one of the most inhospitable planets in the galaxy.

He must have given up hope on being rescued a long time ago.

“Come on,” Wes said softly, and gently tugged on Hobbie’s hand. “Let’s get warm.”


	2. Chapter 2

It was so  _ bright. _

That, almost more than the heat, was what kept distracting Hobbie. The transport’s corridors were plain and utilitarian, but to Hobbie, they seemed as massive and bright as a newborn star. 

The lights, regular, even lights, were bright and yellow, making the walls and floors gleam in shades of shining silver and white. The only snow and ice in sight was what he and Wes had tracked in instead of being literally everywhere.

Hobbie’s hands shook as he took the medpack from it’s storage cabinet next to the kitchenette. This almost didn’t feel real. 

There was no mistaking the heat sinking into his bones, though, or how oppressive his clothes and boots were starting to feel. 

Gritting his teeth, Hobbie cast a quick, longing look at his wampa fur coat where it hung on the back of a chair. He hadn’t gone without that heavy weight ever since the end of what passed for summer on Hoth. Winter was fast approaching and that meant he needed to wear as many layers as possible at all times. 

Dropping the medkit on the kitchenette counter, he rummaged inside it for quick acting pain medication. Wes was going to need it. 

This was still so surreal. Out of all the people in the galaxy, it was Wes who had landed on Hoth and gone searching for Rogue Squadron’s old barracks. What were the odds? Insanely high, surely.

They’d flown together for a long time. Often as wingmates and sometimes more intimately after missions. He’d thought about Wes, as well as others, a great deal over the past two years. 

~~_ They’d LEFT HIM BEHIND. To try to survive ALONE and always SO COLD _ ~~

Mostly, he’d wondered if Wes was alive. 

All that mattered was that Wes was here now. He was going to take Hobbie away from this awful, awful planet and he’s never have to be cold again. 

~~_ please… please don’t leave me behind again _ ~~

Wes gave him a weak wave when Hobbie cautiously peeked his head into the shower. It was hard not to recoil from the humidity filling the large, utilitarian refresher.

“I could really go for some pain relief right now,” Wes said in a faint voice.

The jagged wound on his chest was small but stark against Wes’s skin. For all he’s gotten the wound covered up again within a minute or two of being hurt, Hoth’s bitter cold had performed it’s horrific magic and deep frostbite had set in within moments of his wet, wet blood being exposed to the open air. 

Fortunately, the blackened skin of deep set frostbite was starting to lighten up as life returned to the wound.

Hobbie was intimately familiar with how much this process  _ kriffing hurt. _ The first time, it had been a thumb he’d been desperately trying to save. It had hurt so much, Hobbie had honestly debated just cutting it off to make it stop. 

He’d lost it anyways, the first of many.

Forcing himself into action, Hobbie reached into the shower, offering Wes the pills. The other man eagerly accepted them and swallowed them down with a swing from the bottle of water he’d been drinking to help himself stay hydrated. 

Hobbie drew his hand back, unnerved at the feeling of water on his hand and the lack of immediate biting cold. 

“There’s plenty of room,” Wes offered. “And I’m not too proud to admit that I’m not feeling great. I think I’ll need help getting out. So you may as well take advantage of the warm water, right?”

Hobbie stared back at him, stomach twisting and churning. Dis was down in the cargo bay instructing the cargo loading droid in helping her repair her optic sensor and that meant there was nothing watching his back. So what if the boarding ramp was closed? The wampas were terrifyingly smart. It wasn’t completely impossible for one to figure out how to get in. 

Right?

But Wes needed help. The wound would eventually start bleeding and the pain meds might make him unsteady on his feet. 

But joining him… He’d have to undress. Get wet. Expose himself and everything that had changed.

Panic surged, as did the urge to run and hide.  _ He couldn’t be seen, couldn’t be caught. That’s how he would die- _

“Hobbie?”

The plaintive voice broke through his thoughts. Hobbie looked up and saw that Wes was now slumped against the wall, looking pale. 

He needed help. 

* * *

The injury had been worth it, fear of death by frostbite or no. Wes sat content, but also tired and weak, on the floor of the shower as warm water flowed down his still aching chest. It was hard to keep his gaze fixed on the battered far wall and not on Hobbie. He didn’t want to make him any more uncomfortable than he was already, but it was still hard not to stare.

The other man’s pale skin had taken on a reddish hue from the heat of the water thundering out of the next shower head over. It had been a struggle for Hobbie to disrobe and step in, but he’d found his courage and done so because Wes had asked him. He’d bared himself to another person’s gaze and exposed the heavy price Hoth had extracted from him for daring to survive alone. 

nd now, scrubbed clean and with Wes sitting safely on the floor, Hobbie had lost himself to the comfort of hot water. The horrific chill lingering in his bones washed down the drain like the years of sweat and grime he’d scrubbed away. For now, he could just focus on one thing: being warm.

Hobbie’s eyes were closed and his expression blissful. A far cry from earlier when he’d stared, unnerved, at the clean, simple interior of the old transport. Wes didn’t want to ever see him looking so lost and fearful again.

It had gotten better after Hobbie had stepped into the shower proper. He’d flinched at the water hitting him but, with gritted teeth, had helped ease Wes down to the floor and reluctantly activated a second shower head so he could also clean up.

The transport had once seen life ferrying shock troops from planet to planet, from battle to battle, and the shower was sized to allow a large group to bathe at once, all standing in two lines. Hobbie had borrowed Wes’s toiletry kit, using up most of the soap and shampoo as he alternated scrubbing at his skin and scalp, going back and forth and back and forth until he was finally clean and the water running into the reclamation plant ran clean.

Time seemed meaningless as water continued to roar down on them. The air was thick with hot steam and there was no sound besides the thunder of the water pouring out of the showerheads. Eventually, though, Hobbie looked down. Contentment flowed between them as their eyes locked, then Hobbie broke their gaze and looked further down. 

“You’re bleeding,” he said. 

Sure enough, bright red blood was trickling down Wes’s chest and disappearing into the drain. 

“You know what’s nice about having an old ground pounder ship?” Wes said, looking up and smiling weakly. “You don’t have to worry about being the first person to bleed on it.”

“It also has big showers.”

“And lots and lots of towels.”

The second shower head turned off. And Hobbie’s posture changed. Instead of the relaxed, loose limbed posture he’s had, his arms pressed against his sides and his shoulders rounded. The air was still steamy and warm, but even the small drop in temperature was alarming for the other man. 

“I’ll get towels. Wait here,” Hobbie said. His voice wavered slightly and Wes knew this was the last shower he’d be taking for a while. 

Hobbie’s makeshift prosthetic feet clacked quietly on the wet floor as he stepped out of the shower. He returned a few moments later, one towel knotted around his waist, another thrown over his shoulders and held closed over his chest, hiding the most obvious signs of slow starvation from Wes’s gaze. 

Moving slowly and carefully, he helped Wes climb back onto his feet and wrapped him up in his own set of towels. They limped out of the refresher together, Wes unsteady from what was now a full-body ache and Hobbie wobbling a bit on his uneven legs. 

Once dressed, they retired to the kitchen and Wes sat patiently as Hobbie applied bacta gel to his wound and covered it with bandages. It took a bit more work to get his shirt back on without aggravating the injury but they managed it with the experience of old Rebels.

“Thanks,” Wes said, catching one of Hobbie’s hands in his own. He carefully kept his gaze fixed on Hobbie’s face and not on the stumps that marked where he’d once had a full set of fingers. Hobbie started, then went still, his gaze locked on their clasped hands. 

There’d always been an amusing contrast between their skin tones, as Hobbie was pale and prone to burning while Wes had rich bronze coloring that darkened and glistened after minimal sun exposure. Now, though, Hobbie was so pale and borderline malnourished his skin was dry, flaky, and nearly translucent. Harsh scarring marked the stumps of his fingers; he’d lost two on this hand and three on the other, including his thumb. In a sort of twisted way, Hobbie’s hads were a microcosm of the suffering he’d endured alone on Hoth.

“I’m the reason you’re hurt,” Hobbie finally mumbled, not raising his head. 

“It was an accident. It worked out okay, so we can put it behind us.” Wes laid his other hand on top of Hobbie’s. “What matters now is that you’re here and I’m here. We’re together and we’ll leave Hoth behind for good.”

Another shudder ran through Hobbie. His eyes squeezed shut, jaw working as his mutilated hands trembled. 

Wes tightened his grip, letting his determination flow into the other man. “I won’t leave without you. No matter what happens going forward, I will never let you be left behind ever again.”

* * *

Despite Wes’s repeated reassurances, Hobbie couldn’t bring himself to even consider relaxing until Dis floated up from the cargo bay and attached herself to the magnetic harness he’d retrieved from his heavy coat. She was designed to be carried this way but even her slight weight had been getting harder and harder to bear as time went on. Still, though, the sudden heavy bulk, radiant warmth, and quiet hum let him finally start to unwind. Dis was literally watching his back again, shock probe charge and ready to fire on anything that might try to attack from behind. 

With Dis’s sensors, he’d be alerted the moment Wes started to power up his ship for preflight and departure. If he wasn’t on the ship, he’d know to come running right away. A few minutes alone with the ship’s computer and he could even ensure that it wouldn’t let the transport leave without Dis on board. 

He wouldn’t be left behind again.

~~_ He wanted to trust Wes, so very, very much _ ~~

~~_ but he already knew he couldn’t _ ~~

~~_ HE’D LEFT HIM BEHIND to be COLD and hunGRY AND AFRAID _ ~~

~~_ he didn’t want to be afraid anymore _ ~~

Not that he thought Wes would go back on his word. The other man had been determined to uphold promises he made, to the point of being reluctant to  _ make _ promises if he didn’t feel confident he could follow through with them.

Wes had promised Hobbie he would never be left behind again. That promise was so  _ big _ and  _ fierce _ Hobbie couldn’t help but want to believe him. Still, there was a small voice of fear and doubt, the dark voice he’d always had in the back of his head, that wasn’t sure. That voice had gotten much louder over the past two years-

~~_ Two years? Surely it had been longer. It had been an eternity since he’d been this warm. _ ~~

~~_ had he ever really been this warm before? _ ~~

-and there was no doubting that external factors could intervene like last time. Staying close to the ship was his best bet. And in any case, he couldn’t leave until his hair was dry from the shower earlier. 

“Spanner,” Hobbie said as he lifted goggles off his face. Beside him, leaning against the bulky hyperdrive, Wes held out the spanner and took the arc welder away. It was hard to gauge his expression through his own goggles but Hobbie was slowly starting to remember how to read the other man’s body language. He looked tired, shoulders slumping and his limbs moving sluggishly. 

Hobbie kept an eye on Wes as he tightened a bolt on the repaired bracket. Slowly but surely, Wes’s chin dropped down, down, down- Snorting, Wes jerked his head up and tried to straighten up. 

Really, Wes should have been doing this repair, what with his up-to-date training with spaceships and working ten fingers, but his brush with hypothermia and near death had taken too much out of him for it to be safe for him to use the powered tools needed to replace the damaged parts and patch everything else.

Dis let out a new hum and detached herself from Hobbie’s back. He grunted slightly as she pushed away, feeling the press of her metal limbs more than usual. Wrapping his arm around Wes shoulders, he pulled the other man away from the hyperdrive and let his droid work. 

“ _ Repairzzz- sufficient for thirteen-point-eight-nine lightyearzzz,” _ she intoned in a tinny voice.  _ “Unit degradation will sur-r-r-pazzz acceptable par-amterzzz after that point. Replacement-ment-ment-ment will be necesssesary.” _

“She’s charming,” Wes said. He was sagging again, energy fading quickly. 

“All I had to reprogram her at first was the datapad in my flightsuit,” Hobbie retorted. “I need a proper computer to track down the source of her speech impediment,”

Wes, softer, snorted faintly. “Wasn’t being mean,” he mumbled. He was leaning heavily against Hobbie’s shoulder. “Glad you had her,” he added, yawning. 

He didn’t… 

It was like all the manners and social protocols he’d ever learned had gone away. Nothing of Raltiir’s performative and prescriptive responses came to mind, nor the stilted and precise protocols of the Empire. 

He’d never been great with people in the first place, but he’d apparently lost what little social mores he’d had while lost in Hoth’s bitter cold. 

“You need rest,” he finally said, deciding to focus on practical matters once again. “Where are your quarters?”

At first Wes didn’t respond. Then, slowly, his head bobbed upwards and he waved vaguely towards the bow of the ship. Frowning, Hobbie slung one of Wes’s arms over his shoulders and started half walking him and half dragging him out of the engine room. Wes managed to remain alert enough to direct Hobbie towards his bunk and then collapsed down, fast asleep, the moment Hobbie lowered him down onto the soft surface. 

He was alone again. 

Suddenly unnerved, Hobbie spun on his heel and hurried out of the room. The ship was suddenly too big and too bright, the lights glaring unnervingly steadily from above and leaving Hobbie utterly exposed to- to-  _ everything. _

Breath hitching, Hobbie raced as quickly as he dared towards the kitchenette. He grabbed his heavy coat and spun back around. Most of the transport’s space had been converted to cargo space but there were a few room still-

Dis lowered the lights of the quarters Hobbie chose to hide in until the ievel of illumination in the room was closer to what Hobbie had managed to achieve in the broken remains of Echo Base. 

“Find the bridge,” Hobbie ordered Dis. “Talk to the ship’s computer and make sure it won’t leave without us.”

Letting out a buzzing sound of worry, the droid hovered uncertainly in the air.

“Get out! Go!” he roared. His blood was suddenly roaring loud in his ears, white hot anger lancing through him.

_ “Acknowledged.” _ Dis said, then raced out of the room. 

Hobbie dragged his coat over his shoulders, clutching it tight to his thin body with shaking hands. He dared to reach out and test the mattress. It was bare of any kind of bedding, the pillow looking unfinished without a cover, and frighteningly soft. Instead of trying to rest on it, Hobbie suddenly found himself huddled in a small space between the foot of the bed and the wall and hidden from view by a cabinet bolted to the wall. He let himself collapse into a ball on the ground, dragging the familiar coat over himself. The weight was reassuring, the smell familiar. The white fur was rough under his hands, the coarse guard hairs poking up between his fingers as he dug his way down to the softer undercoat.

It was too much.  _ It was too much, it couldn’t be real- _

But there was rough, tightly woven carpet under his cheek instead of the slick, cold surface of the emergency shelter he slept in.

He was warm, truly warm, almost boiling, actually, under his coat instead of being just warm enough to sleep. He didn’t have to hunch his shoulders and pull his arms in to feel warm, like he wasn’t alone-

He was almost too warm, but not like hypothermia, he didn’t feel like he needed to strip down-

He was warm and safe, he’d  _ taken a shower, _ his hair was  _ wet _ and he hadn’t  _ died _ of exposure-

There was food in the kitchenette, he could just  _ go eat something instead of having to ignore the painful twisting in his empty stomach- _

He-

He-

The sudden sob surprised him. He could feel his sinuses starting to clog and tears welling in his eyes. He tried to stop it, to push the confusing swirl of emotion down, but it all just kept building inside him-

_ He couldn’t cry, his eyes would freeze shut, the mucus in his nose turn to ice- _

_ He hadn’t let himself cry in so very, very long, he couldn’t cry, it was too dangerous- _

Burying his head in the crook of his arm to muffle the sound, Hobbie kept trying to stop the tears rolling down his face and the sobs that made his body shake. He cried and was afraid to do so, cried and felt the pain of his stomach having had nothing to digest in over a day, and just cried and cried because he was alone but wasn’t, was safe but didn’t know how to feel safe anymore, and still felt so very, very frightened. 

There was no place for him anymore in the galaxy, he knew. The spot he’d once occupied in people’s minds was gone, wiped away with his apparent death. He didn’t know how to be around people anymore and couldn’t even accept that he was warm and safe on an old, battered transport ship, let alone a planet full of sentient beings, buildings, lights, and sounds. 

Hobbie cried and as more and more tears flowed out of his eyes. The more he cried, the more bizarre everything felt, and yet…

He looked up, peeking cautiously out from under the thick layer of wampa fur and blinked without issue. His eye lashes weren’t frozen together, his nose full only of mucus and not ice. The tears didn’t stop, nor the sobs, but something in his chest loosened slightly. When his head dropped down again to hide in his arm, the sobs were longer and louder.

And for the first time in a very, very long time, Hobbie stopped struggling to control what he felt and just let go. 

For now, he could cry. He was alone, yes, but by choice, not from forced exile. He  _ was _ warm, he  _ was _ safe, even if those concepts almost seemed too abstract to understand. He could get up and go sit next to Wes in the next room if he wanted to. To watch him sleep and hear him snore. He could reach out and touch his hand, feel the rise and fall of his diaphragm as he breathed slow and deep. 

Dis would make sure they weren’t left behind. 

For now, it was okay to cry. 

He wasn’t alone.


	3. Chapter 3

Wes was carefully blank faced as he sipped his caf. “So he won’t be getting new prosthetics right away?” he asked.

A loud scream of rage tore its way out of the door as the nurse droid raced out. There was a noticeable dent in one side of its oblong torso.

Beside him, Mai Yag’ana’s attennapalps continued to twitch in Hobbie’s direction. Grimacing, the therapist shook her head. “Even if he was physically ready for surgery, his mental health would dictate otherwise. He’s only been off Hoth for just over a week and having to stay here in the hospital isn’t doing anything to help his psychological recovery.”

“That’s understating things,” Wes muttered. His dark eyes tracked the charge nurse’s arrival and how she steadied herself before entering Hobbie’s room. He was still on an intense antibiotic treatment plan and nutrition regimen to address several of the health issues he’d left Hoth with, not to mention having had to undergo all sorts of scans and tests to determine the extent of the existing nerve damage and other things.

Yag’ana sighed. “The datawork declaring him alive again has finally gone through. I honestly don’t see any reason why he should have to stay here any longer. We don’t need any more genetic testing to confirm his identity and he has a treatment plan to begin rebuilding his health. The only thing being in the hospital now is doing is overwhelming him and that is actively detrimental to his mental health.”

“Overwhelming is a really nice way to say he’s stressed out and having panic attacks every few hours.” Wes cradled his mug of caf, desperately wanting to go back to Hobbie… but also somewhat dreading it. Hobbie’s discomfort with the transport shuttle they’d left Hoth on was nothing compared to his distress now. Wes wanted to wrap him up in a warm blanket and make all the issues go away. Up until now, however, he hadn’t been able to do that and instead had to watch Hobbie shake in fear and snarl at the strangers constantly streaming in and out of his room. “What’s involved with him leaving the hospital?”

“To leave, it’s simply a matter of getting the datawork signed off on by his medical team,” Yag’ana said. “I believe Dr. Pellis wants to send him home with a hover chair in case of issues with the prosthetic legs Hobbie crafted on Hoth. He’s only able to utilize them at around thirty-five percent capacity, so it’s not unreasonable to assume he might need some mobility assistance between now and when he finally gets new prosthetics.”

“They really can’t just replace them?”

“Not with the existing nerve damage, and definitely not when his overall physical health is so poor.” Yag’ana focused her attennapalps more on the wall separating them from Hobbie. Her ghostly pale skin flushed slightly at whatever she was sensing from inside. “Hospitals are busy, full of strangers, and he’s still struggling to accept that he isn’t trapped on Hoth. The only way he’ll really recover is to have a safe place where he can retreat to when he’s overwhelmed, a place where he can lash out and not be drugged into a stupor because he’s too much for the staff to handle alongside their other patients.

“The staff here truly do want what’s best for him, but hospitals by their very nature require a delicate balancing act so that the most good can be done as efficiently as possible. Hobbie needs more safety and security than that balancing act can currently provide.”

Wes had worried, night after sleepless night, how Hobbie would cope after he was released from the hospital. He couldn’t do it alone, that was more than clear. He’d coped well enough during the departure from Hoth and during the hyperspace flights. The few hours where Wes had left to get proper medical treatment for his injury, though…

That had been bad.

Almost as bad as landing on Chandrilla and just… everything that had followed.

“He can’t live by himself,” Wes said, knowing, but also wanting confirmation. 

“Only if we want to consign him to never, ever leaving whatever housing unit he ended up and never fully healing, in mind or body.”

The solution was right there, the offer hovering on the tip of his tongue, but Wes couldn’t help but hesitate. Because the offer came with a frightening amount of responsibility and dedication. It wouldn’t be a job he could do for a few hours, then go home and switch off for the night. It would mean being on top of things for their entire waking day cycle and probably a lot at night as well. There would be few holidays, few days where he wouldn’t be  _ On _ almost all the time.

And yet...

He’d had a chance to check on Hobbie’s crashed snow speeder during the evacuation of Hoth and hadn’t taken it. It was as much on him as it was Wedge or Luke that Hobbie had been left behind to live in hell for two years.

“Can he come home with me?”

Guilt was a hell of a motivator. Not the only one, fortunately, but still. A big part of it.

* * *

Three days. It took three whole days for the medical team to sign off on Hobbie’s datawork and for a representative from the New Republic’s rapidly expanding Department of Veteran Services to move Wes’s belongings from a small, efficiency housing unit to a larger freestanding dwelling with a private yard and room for multiple beings. The larger space also meant more places for the mover droids to unpack everything, which in turn translated to Wes swearing as he went from one room to the next, shifting things around so that they were stored in a way that actually made  _ sense. _ This he had to do at night in the meager hours between when he left the hospital and when he could finally make himself crawl into bed.

He just…

It had to be  _ right _ . Hobbie had gone without for so long, Wes wanted to make sure Hobbie could walk into this house and feel at home. Not right away, probably, but eventually. As he continued to recover. The rooms were spacious and the furniture arranged to be friendly to a hoverchair. The windows displayed Chandrilla’s beautiful vistas with few obstructions but could also be turned semi-transparents or even fully opaque with the twist of a control knob. There was food in the kitchen, lots of food, probably too much food, but Wes had Hobbie’s nutrition orders and schedule for reintroducing rich foods practically memorized at this point. 

Hobbie had always been slender, almost skinny. He’d lost even that and now looked almost skeletal and wraith-like with his nearly translucent skin. And thus, the kitchen was well stocked. 

Veteran Services helped out. Wes himself spent what was probably too much getting things ready. His mother definitely dipped way too deep into the family coffers helping out. It was her way of reaching out when she couldn’t be there in person; Yag’ana said having company over was a long term goal and would require specific preparation Hobbie wasn’t capable of yet.

Some day, though. 

Wes tried not to fiddle with the serveware sitting in front of him while Wedge placed his food order at the counter. There was a nice little takeaway restaurant near the hospital with a few dining-in booths. With Wedge just returned from a mission and Hobbie in the midst of another neuroscan, this seemed the opportune time to bring Hobbie’s oldest friend up to speed with recent events.

“Thanks for inviting me out,” Wedge said as he slipped into the booth. He slid a datachip into the small terminal tucked up against the wall and the sign floating overhead added his order number to Wes’s. “This is already a nice change of pace from the mission.”

“Everything went alright?” Wes asked. He forced his hand flat on the table, pinning the fork underneath his palm so he’d stop bouncing it on the tabletop.

“As well as it can,” Wedge replied, shrugging. “Nora’s really driven, so there wasn’t a lot of downtime.” He paused, hesitating as he tried to find something else to say that wasn’t classified. In the end he came up short and shrugged again. 

Wes nodded understandingly, then cringed inside as Wedge flinched at the sudden sound of the fryer hissing to life. The Corellian’s body went rigid, his expression tightening before he visibly forced himself to relax. 

After spending almost two weeks now staring Hobbie’s trauma in the face, Wedge’s lingering issues from his time in Imperial captivity were starkly evident.

“So what’s next?” Wes asked, his fingers moving on to start demolishing a small packet of sweetener. “More missions?”

“Maybe. I was also thinking, though, of accepting a training position.” Wedge flushed slightly at Wes’s surprise. “I’m really happy to be able to help Nora- to help out with dealing with the lingering Imperial remnant, but I like the idea of helping to build something new, not just hunt things and beings down to capture or destroy them.”

“You’d be good at that,” Wes said. “I mean, you went through actual military training at an actual flight school, so you know better than lots of other pilots how to teach new pilots to fly.”

“Maybe, maybe not. Hobbie and I didn’t exactly finish our training.” The light in Wedge’s eyes dimmed some. “But I figure I know just enough not to be terrible and it would keep me in the military instead of, oh, I don’t know, going off to become an architect or something.”

“An architect?”

Wedge grinned again, pausing long enough for their plates of food to be delivered by a server droid. “I didn’t always have my eyes set on the skies, you know.”

“Yeah, but still. An architect.” Wes waggled his eyesbrows suggestively. “You know that’s the one career the holoflicks always turn to when they want the romantic rival to be total douche, right? Are you admitting to something?”

Wedge balled up his paper napkin and threw it right at Wes’s face. Choking back laughter, Wes turned his attention to his food. It wasn’t fancy, just a sandwich with meat, cheese, and a homemade spice sauce, but it was hearty enough. And despite the natural opening Wedge had given him, he wanted Wedge to actually eat something before he told him about his own mission… and how they’d all failed Hobbie two years ago.

They continued to make small talk, with Wes limiting himself to eating and making the occasional comment or noise while Wedge went into more detail about the training position he was considering.

“I wish Tycho could have made it,” Wedge said about halfway through the meal. His voice was wistful. “I had some correspondence from him waiting for me when I got back and it sounds like things are going really well on New Alderaan, but it’d be nice if the three of us could get together again. We’re the last of the old Rogues, you know, besides Luke.”

Damn it all, Wes thought, and set down his sandwich with a barely suppressed sigh. “It’d be good to see him again,” he agreed. “Can you shoot me his contact info? I moved recently and lost the flimsi it was written down on.”

“Sure, that’s no problem. Actually, I’ll do you one better and include you next time I send him a message. Loop you into things,” Wedge said,

“Good. Thanks. That’d be…” His voice trailed off as he groped for how to start. Wedge’s dark eyes sharpened at the sudden pause. Well, it wasn’t like Wes had ever been able to hide things from Wedge. He cleared his throat.

“So, I’ve been doing some supply runs for the Navy lately,” he began, and was relieved to see Wedge nod in acknowledgement. “And I had a minor hyperdrive motivator breakdown. Nothing too serious, but I had to touchdown and shut most everything off to do the repairs.”

“Okay,” Wedge said.

“I, uh, I ended up landing on Hoth.” Wes and Wedge both shivered at the memory of the horrific cold on the planet. “Used a laser to get back into Echo Base and even though I told myself to just make repairs and leave, I ended up going for a walk instead.”

The air at their little booth turned solemn. “How did it look?” Wedge asked quietly.

“Snowy,” Wes replied. “The Empire stripped a lot of what was left, but they left a lot as well. Not that I could tell exactly what it all was. Most everything was covered in snow and ice.” He paused again, tried to swallow down the sudden lump in his throat and couldn’t. A sip of his water didn’t help either. 

Across from him, Wedge’s back was starting to stiffen some. He didn’t know what Wes was about to say, but he could definitely tell Wes was building up to something. And he didn’t always deal well with surprises these days. 

“I explored the base some,” Wes finally continued. He couldn’t decide if he should be watching Wedge or if he could just stare at the table and avoid seeing the horror that was surely about to creep into Wedge’s eyes. “My feet just kept walking and the next thing I knew, I was outside our old quarters.”

“Where we used to sleep three to a bed,” Wedge remembered. “You and Hobbie cracked jokes about warm bodies and morning wood the first few days, but stopped after the pilots from Taimen Squadron got, uh,  _ frozen together _ and had to be rescued.”

Wes paused again, his eyes going wide. “Holy kriff, I’d forgotten about that,” he breathed. “That was… Well, the kind of horrifically hilarious situation we all kept getting into in those days. Thank gods it wasn’t any of us.”

“It was too cold for anything like that,” Wedge muttered.

“The way they went about it, sure.”

“Do you remember how their squad mates had to stand over them with hand dryers?” Wedge asked, his face cracking into a smile. “It took almost two hours to get them unstuck without anything coming off.”

“High Command had to transfer them to permanent escort duty to get away from the jokes afterwards,” Wes snickered. “Ah, man, that was funny.” 

A few seconds later, the brief moment of cheer wore off. Wes felt his smile slide off his face and Wedge went still, alarmed at Wes’s sudden somber mood.

“Our quarters weren’t empty,” he said, lurching back on topic. “I went in and got jumped. I tried to fight but got injured in the process, not fatally, obviously.”

“Was it a smuggler?” Wedge demanded. “I can get in touch with Booster so we can find-”

“It was Hobbie.”

Wedge went rigid, blood draining out of his face. “That isn’t funny, Wes,” he finally managed after the initial shock wore off.

“We thought he died when he crashed his speeder into the AT-AT walker,” Wes said, forcing himself to meet Wedge’s gaze. “The Empire was coming down on us and we thought he died… So we left. We didn’t even check on him. We left Hoth and he  _ wasn’t dead, _ Wedge. We left him behind on Hoth and the Empire didn’t find him either. We left him there, all alone with whatever he could scavenge and repair.”

Pure horror filled Wedge’s face.

“He’s going to be okay,” Wes quickly added. “We fought, but no one was fatally injured. We talked and went back to my ship so I could get patched up. When I left, he came with me. He’s here, Wedge, on Chandrilla. He’s in the hospital right now.”

“I have to go see him,” Wedge said frantically. He swung his legs sideways and started to climb out of the booth. Wes lunged forward and grabbed his arm.

“Hang on, I’m not done,” he said quickly. He didn’t need Yag’ana there to tell him that Wedge barging into Hobbie’s room fill with anxiety and guilt would end poorly. 

“Let  _ go _ of me, I have to go-”

“Shut up and listen to me,” Wes snapped. Startled Wedge froze, then slowly melted back into his seat. “Hobbie’s not okay. He  _ will be,” _ he quickly added, “but it’s going to take time. Physically, he’s in rough shape, but he’s also already getting better. Mentally… That’s going to take longer, Wedge. I know you want to see him and he’ll want to see you, but now is not the time. He’s already coming apart at the seams just being in the hospital. He’s completely tapped out emotionally. He literally cannot deal with you right now. He might… 

“Wedge, it could break him. He’s struggling a lot right now and you would, well, be one more thing for him to deal with. He doesn’t have any kind of reserves and he’s completely tapped out. He’s coming home with me,” Wes continued. “It’s all arranged. He’s getting one last neuroscan, then we’re starting the discharge process if the doctors see whatever it is they’re looking for. Some improvement, I guess, or maybe just that he’s stable.

“Anyways, I guess the other thing I wanted to tell you is that I’m cashing out. As of midnight tonight, I’m no longer a soldier. Hobbie’s going to need help full time until everything is just… not so scary or overwhelming. And since I’m the one who found him, he’s, I dunno, it feels like my responsibility.”

“You’re- With-” Wedge squeezed his eyes shut.

“Wedge?”

“Need a minute.”

Wes went back to fiddling with his fork while Wedge struggled to process everything. After a minute or so, he opened his eyes, visibly stressed.

“Okay, one thing at a time, I guess. You’re leaving service?”

“Yup. Taking the downsizing bonus and moving to a house in a quiet neighborhood. Hobbie’s been granted backpay and a, uh,  _ Sorry-for-stranding-you _ bonus, so he’ll be able to contribute to keeping the house up and stuff. My parents are also making plans to help out if we need it.”

“Good, that’s good,” Wedge said. “If you need any help with something, call me right away. I’ll be on-planet. There’s no chance in hell I’m leaving now.”

“I’ll do that,” Wes said. 

“Now tell me more about Hobbie.”

Taking a deep breath, Wes did so, going into a bit more detail about the state of the injuries and old wounds he’d left Hoth with. “His mental health is what’s going to take the longest to heal, I think. He has a shrink who seems really good and he’ll be seeing her, but she’s been really emphasizing that this is going to take time. He needs time to adjust to not being on Hoth, to come to terms with having been there for two years, and help being around other people again.”

“I can’t begin to imagine how he’s feeling,” Wedge said unhappily.

Wes nodded. “He’s swinging back and forth between being happy and panicking. Hospitals are so damned busy, even at night, so he isn’t really resting. That’s why he’s getting sent home so soon. Yag’ana, the shrink, and medical droids will even be making house calls for a while at first so he can take some time to unwind and level out. After that, though, that’s when we’ll start helping him come out of his shell. Take him out shopping, to the park, to see doctors. Having people visit us is also something we’ll be working on in the future. My mom’s chomping at the bit to come see him, and I know you are, too.”

“He just needs time,” Wedge repeated. “Time and no outside pressure.”

“Yeah. These first few weeks are going to be rough, I think, so expect some calls from me so I can vent and unwind.” Wes gave Wedge a small smile. He hadn’t considered before now that  _ he _ was going to need help and a way to escape from the upcoming drama, but if Wedge really could stick around on Chandrilla… Well, that was kind of perfect, wasn’t it?

“I can run interference with everyone who’s going to want to see Hobbie,” Wedge offered. “Don’t pass around your contact info to anyone who won’t respect the boundaries you and Hobbie will need. Send anyone who bothers you to me and I’ll handle the rest.”

“I’ll do that,” Wes said gratefully. “That’ll help in so many different ways.”

Wedge reached out and squeezed Wes’s forearm. “I’m so glad your ship broke down and you were able to find Hobbie. And taking on the duty of helping him adjust… that’s incredibly generous of you, Wes. You’re giving up a lot doing this and I really think it’ll help him heal faster. You and he were always close.”

“Almost as close as you two,” Wes teased.

“Well, defecting together and the way it all went down does create a rather strong bond,” Wedge said with a faux-casual drawl. Then, with a small smile on his face, he withdrew his hand. “Just remember that I’ll still be riding your ass for updates on how he’s doing. I’ll pass the news along in an appropriate fashion, so don’t worry about that, but you will have me at your doorstep if you suddenly go quiet.”

“That’s a portent of doom if I ever heard one.” Wes snorted, then took a sip of water. “Real talk, though? We’re the last of the Rogues, you, Tycho, Hobbie, and I. We have to look out for each other now that Luke’s a full-time Jedi. I may have come on Hobbie by happen-stance, but I really feel like it’s our duty to help him out. I know he’d do the same if any of us had been the one left behind.”

“Without a doubt.”

“I’ll also talk to Yag’ana. If we’re lucky, we might be able to get him to agree to sit for a holo once we’ve been home for a little while. And I bet he’d be okay writing to you once he’s gotten used to the idea.”

“He always did like writing letters and such.”

“Exactly. He can pick up an old hobby, heh, and reconnect with an old friend at the same time.”

Wedge’s eyes lit up at the idea of taking up a regular correspondence with Hobbie. “Ask the counselor if I should write first, will you? Or if there’s a particular tone I should use, or… or avoid writing about anything. I don’t want to make things worse.”

“I will,” Wes promised. There was a faint beeping sound and he quickly dug out his datapad. The alarm was silenced with a quick command and he scooped up the remains of his sandwich and started wolfing it down. “Gotta head back soon,” he said around the mouthful. 

“Of course. I’ll get started on the announcement once you leave…” Wedge paused. “Wes, I need a non-military message address for you.”

Wes swallowed. “Flimsi?”

“Uh, napkin?” Wedge said after quickly patting his pockets. He produced a stylus with blank ink and Wes scribbled down the new message service he’d signed up for the day before, as well as his new comlink code. “Leave a message on my comlink if something goes wrong with the text message. And vice versa, I guess. I had to set things up in a hurry.”

“I will.” 

Wedge watched as Wes finished the last few bites, drained his water glass, then wiped his mouth and hands clean with a napkin. He rose when Wes did and pulled him into a tight embrace. “Thank you for finding Hobbie and for being willing to help take care of him. Just remember,” he added, pulling back, “that there are a lot of people who are ready to help take care of  _ you. _ Call me whenever you need me. I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.”

Wes nodded and sighed softly as they separated. Squaring his shoulders, he prepared for the short walk back to the hospital. “Back to it. Take care, Wedge.”

“You, too. And all my best to Hobbie. I know Tycho won’t mind my saying that we both love you two. We’ll see you soon.”


	4. Chapter 4

He was  _ so tired.  _ He didn’t care what Yag’ana or the doctors said, he was going to drop dead from sheer exhaustion and make all the hard work and stress Wes was putting himself through  _ pointless. _

A soft  _ thud _ heralded a door down the hall closing, followed by the just barely audible hum of repulsorlifts. Voices kept  _ talking and talking  _ outside and Hobbie  _ hated  _ being so close to the nurse’s station and the lifts. It was  _ never  _ quiet outside and he wasn’t  _ used _ to the sounds of civilization anymore-

Tears pricked at his eyes, but Hobbie determinedly fought back against the urge to cry. He wanted to  _ scream,  _ to howl until he had his coat, his vibroblade, and Dis back. He wanted everything to  _ shut the hell up _ so he could just kriffing  _ sleep. _

He was  _ so tired,  _ so tired he’d almost think hypothermia had finally gotten him and was lulling him into an icy death except his previous battles with hypothermia hadn’t included the  _ rasp-hiss _ of a temperature control unit rattling just at the edge of his hearing or the soft squeals of some youngling as they ran down the hallway outside. Hypothermia hallucinations didn’t include the lingering taste of barium or a headache brought on by the incessant rumble of the imaging machine he’d only recently escaped. 

A small broken sob escaped him and he quickly pressed his lips together to keep another from getting out. Liquid heat suddenly trickled down his cheeks, first on one side, then another, and his entire body trembled. 

The door to his room suddenly snapped open and Hobbie’s rattled, jangling nerves  _ screamed _ as danger rushed into the room-

Hobbie had the vase of flowers that had been delivered earlier in hand within moments and he launched it with all his strength at the monster floating towards him. The plastic vase bounced uselessly off the droid, flowers and water spilling out onto the floor. 

“Get out!” Hobbie roared, his blood suddenly rushing and pounding in his veins, the need to  _ fight _ and defend himself momentarily overriding his exhaustion. 

“It is time for your medication,” the droid said. It continued forward without pause, a manipulator arm emerging from its torso to offer him a small plastic cup with pills in it. 

Hobbie glared hatefully at the cup while his heart thudded wildly in his chest and his body shook with adrenalin. The doctors kept adding sedatives and sleep aids to that cup, something to make him docile. He  _ hated  _ how the pills made him feel, how he lost what little control over he had his own person and how his senses became confused and sluggish. 

He’d survived by being alert and in control. He couldn’t just stop. That would get him  _ killed. _

“Hey, I’m back,” Wes' voice suddenly announced and Hobbie risked a quick look towards the curtain hiding his door just in time to see Wes appear. The other man cocked an eyebrow as his eyes flitted from the droid to the mess of flowers on the floor. 

A flicker of shame suddenly slammed through Hobbie. Wes knew he hated all these strangers coming in and out of his room. He’d gone to the trouble of convincing the nurses that he could handle most of the spot cleaning so Hobbie wouldn’t have to deal with as much foot traffic, and now he’d gone and made a mess. 

Pausing to scoop up the flowers and the vase, Wes disappeared into the en suite bathroom. He returned a few moments later with the neatly rearranged flowers in one hand and a large towel in the other. The towel was tossed on the puddle on the floor and the vase returned to Hobbie’s nightstand. Then, reclaiming his usual chair, Wes pulled his boots off and propped his sock clad feet on the bed.

“So, how did the scan go?” Wes asked, cocking his head to the side. 

Hobbie felt his face flush with embarrassment and stared at his ruined hands as they twisted the blanket laid across his lap. 

Wes had done all that like it was nothing. Like he hadn’t done it a dozen times before and would have to  _ keep _ doing it because Hobbie couldn’t control himself.

“Mr. Klivian is due to take his medication,” the floating droid intoned again. It swiveled in mid-air to offer the cup to Wes. 

“What’s in the cup?” Wes asked, not moving. 

The droid rattled off the list: two antibiotics, a drug to help clear the lingering barium from his system, a probiotic, multivitamin, a mood stabilizer, and a sleep aid.

Wes cocked an eyebrow and looked at Hobbie. 

“I’m not taking the sleeping pill-“

“Okay.”

“-and they can  _ fuck off _ with the mood stabilizer,” Hobbie finished. 

Wes nodded slowly. “You don’t have to take it if you really don’t want to. Yah’aga did say it would need a little while to build up in your system before working, though. Would you be willing to keep taking it for a little while longer to see if it helps?”

“I don’t need it! Or the sleeping pills. Let me out of this  _ slagging _ hospital and I’ll sleep just fine.”

“Can you take the sleeping pill and the mood stabilizer out? Thanks,” Wes said, glancing at the droid. His expression remained friendly but he kept a sharp watch until he saw the droid remove two pills from the cup. Setting it down on the table Hobbie could pull over his lap, the droid turned and floated out of the room. “The rest of that is just physical health stuff. Do you need any more water or anything?”

Hobbie just barely managed to bite back another snarl; Wes hadn’t done anything to earn his ire. Reaching out, he sourly dragged the table over and began downing the pills one by one, taking a long pull from the large water jug the nurses brought him every morning. The large handle was easy enough to grab, at least. Unlike every single eating utensil that existed in this gods-forsaken galaxy.

“Any updates from Dr. Pellis?” Wes asked when Hobbie had finished taking his medications. 

Slumping back against the raised mattress, Hobbie shook his head. “He’s supposed to come tell us- me- about the results of the scan soon. So I guess we’ll have to wait for him to find time to look at the results first.”

“That’s going to take a while,” Wes groaned. He stretched, feet flexing and toes wiggling inside his socks. Then, staring at the plain gray foot coverings, he spoke again. “You’re still okay coming to stay with me for a while, right?”

A flutter ran through Hobbie’s chest. He nodded, head jerking. Then, realizing Wes hadn’t seen the gesture, he spoke up. “Yeah. It’s… it’s not like I have anywhere else to go. I wouldn’t even know where to start setting up my own housing arrangements, getting food, or… That kind of stuff. You’re… you’re really okay with leaving the military? After all this time?”

Wes nodded. “Yeah, it’ll be super weird, but honestly? There isn’t a lot for me to do. I’ve been doing cargo runs, for kriff’s sake. Flying a barge from one place to another because the contents are just important enough that they want an organic being involved in the process instead of just letting a droid do all the work. The military’s being downsized anyways, so cashing out now instead of later just makes sense.”

“What are you going to do?” 

“I have no clue.” Wes sighed. “I’m more than happy to help you out however you need, honest. But I’m not your mother. You’re a grown-ass adult and just need a little bit of help with stuff. It won’t be long before you don’t need me for anything.”

That wasn’t exactly an answer, but Hobbie knew deep down that he needed more than just “a little bit of help”. He was a mess and panicked when around more than a handful of people. He couldn’t wrap his head around how much food the hospital kept bringing him and all the work that must have gone into preparing everything. Then there was laundry, cleaning and sanitation work, endless datawork, and suddenly having all sorts of files and pieces of flimsi he was supposed to keep up with.

He didn’t even have Dis. New Republic Intelligence had insisted on conducting a review of her files and systems just in case of… something. They hadn’t said. 

Hobbie had never gone this long without Dis. He didn’t have her steady weight on his back or the hum of her processors to fill the background with. No stuttering commentary on whatever he asked her about and, worst of all, the horrifying sensation of being constantly vulnerable. 

The fight he’d had with Wes played constantly behind his eyes, reminding not just of how he’d almost killed Wes but also how differently the fight could have gone. Hobbie had only had an edge because of Dis and now… he was alone.

“When do I get Dis back?” Hobbie asked.

Wes sighed. “I don’t know, Hobbie. I’ve left messages with the head of the NRI unit that took her away, but I swear I don’t know.”

“Will they be able to get her to me if we leave here?” Terror suddenly consumed him. “They haven’t lost or damaged her, have they? Or changed her programming? They took her off the ship, what if they tried to deliver her already and couldn’t find me-”

“Hobbie.” There was a subtle edge to Wes’s voice. Hobbie suddenly, rather belatedly, remembered that they’d had this exact conversation last night. And last morning. Then several times the day before.

He may have brought it up a few times.

“I have messages from the NRI team acknowledging your upcoming change of address. They’ll send her home as soon as they’re done.”

“You’re sure?” Hobbie asked.

“I’m sure.” 

The door chime sounded, interrupting any further discussion. The door powered open, briefly letting in more noise from outside, then slid shut with a quiet hiss. The curtain twitched and then Yag’ana poked her head in, her attennapalps swaying gently above her skull. 

“Hi, I heard that Dr. Pellis will be on his way soon,” she said, smiling. “So I wanted to come check in on you two. Do you mind if I come in?”

“It’s not like I can stop you,” Hobbie muttered. 

Yag’ana raised a thin eyebrow while one of her attenapalps turned slightly towards him. “Of course you can. This is your room, after all, and I’m not here for a required medical thing. If you’d like to be alone, just say so and I’ll step out, no harm done.”

Hobbie looked uncertainty at Wes. The other man just shrugged, saying, “She’s right. It’s your call.”

“Come in, then, I guess,” Hobbie finally said.

Yag’ana smiled, her oddly dark colored eyes brightening. Pulling the curtain aside, she stepped through and continued into the room, letting the patterned plasteen sheet fall back into place behind her.

Wes rose and quickly picked up the towel still lying on the floor, tossed it into the refresher, then grabbed the other chair and pulled it closer to Hobbie’s bed. 

“So how are you doing today?” she asked. 

Yag’ana may simply have been the counselor assigned to him but Hobbie had to admit that she really did seem to care. It wasn’t unusual for her to linger after an official appointment so she could listen to Wes tell stories or talk about an innocuous subject that had come up during the counseling session. 

“I want to leave and I want Dis back,” Hobbie replied. Yag’ana nodded, looking sympathetic. “I can understand that. This has been very jarring for you. I think you’ve handled it pretty well, though.”

Hobbie started to answer, then hesitated and glanced at Wes. Flashing a familiar grin, Wes grabbed his boots and headed for the door. Some of the tension in Hobbie’s chest loosened up when he heard the door slide shut. “I keep making problems for Wes,” Hobbie said, staring at his blanket. “And I’m going to keep doing that, no matter how hard I try not to.”

“He seems okay with that. He knows you’re not doing it because you’re being a jerk, but because you’ve been through something incredibly traumatic and that you can’t just be the way you used to be at the drop of a hat.”

“He’s giving everything up, though!” Hobbie exclaimed. “He’s resigned from the military, he’s moved to a new home and upended everything in his life for me.” Face crumbling, Hobbie felt the burning press of tears forming in his eyes. “He was never one of the soldiers who’d talk about what they’d do after the war. There never was an after for him; he chose to dedicate himself to the military years ago. He always thought he’d be turned to stardust before he had to start thinking about retirement.”

“I know this will be a challenge for you both-” Yag’ana paused when Hobbie snorted derisively, “but this is his choice. Last I heard, you didn’t point a blaster at his head and order him to resign. You didn’t threaten to hurt him if he didn’t change his residence. Wes Janson strikes me as a pretty rational guy. Do you think that’s an accurate assessment?”

“I guess.”

“Do you have any reason to believe he hasn’t thought this through?”

Hobbie sighed and scrubbed at his watery eyes. “No,” he muttered. “He has lists. Notes about everything he’s put together. He’s practically put together a full-on mission briefing.”

“Then trust him, Hobbie. He wants to do this. He’s going into this with his eyes open. He cares about you and wants to help. Will you let him?”

Hobbie didn’t answer. Couldn’t. He could feel tears rolling down his cheeks again and a horrible swirl of confusing emotions churning through him.

“You get a say in this too,” Yag’ana added. Her voice was low and soothing. It didn’t travel up and down her full vocal register and instead stayed somewhere that was easier to hear and handle. “If this doesn’t work out or you truly feel uncomfortable about going with Wes and letting him help, alternative arrangements can be made. It’s your choice.”

For a brief moment, Hobbie pictured it. He could imagine living alone with Dis and the occasional visitor. Then there was the possibility of staying in some sort of group home, surrounded by other veterans or traumatized beings… 

The visions were all  _ terrible _ . Lonely or impersonal or flat out frightening. Scrubbing away the tears, Hobbie took a shaky breath, then another. “I want to stay with Wes,” he said firmly. “I know him, what he’s like, what he drinks, and… Hells, I’ve visited his family before. They’re good people. All of them. So- So I want to stay with Wes, for as long as I need help.”

Yag’ana smiled again. “That sounds great. Just remember that you can change your mind at any time. You’re not permanently locked into this decision, so let me know if something is feeling off or you decide you want to try something new.”

“I will,” Hobbie promised. He hoped he wouldn’t need to worry about keeping that promise. 

“Alright. Why don’t we talk about leaving the hospital and work through some different scenarios?”

* * *

Wes turned his head when he heard his name, then nodded at the green skinned Mirilian walking up to him. Tucking his datapad under his arm, the doctor extended his hand for a quick handshake.

“Good to see you, Dr. Pellis,” Wes replied. “I hope. And you can drop the rank. As of midnight tonight, I’m officially ‘Mr. Janson’ and, oh god, that sounds so strange coming out of my mouth.” Wes blinked in horror. He was okay leaving the military, honest, but that was his father’s title, not his. “Better yet, just call me Wes.”

“I can do that,” the doctor said with noticeable amusement. “I’m sorry to take so long but, well, I’ve had a rather stressful run of things today. Fortunately, I can end my shift on a positive note.”

“Hobbie’s good to leave?” Wes asked.

“As soon as he’s ready and the datawork goes through,” the doctor confirmed. “He’s neurologically stable and his last round of bloodwork showed improvements over what it was when he arrived. We’ll need to continue closely monitoring him for a while and the nutrition plan is still vitally urgent but he’s on a good trajectory.”

“That’s good,” Wes said in relief. “I’m hoping going somewhere a little less busy will help even more. All the same, though? Thank you, Dr. Pellis, for how much everyone’s helped Hobbie out. I know he hasn’t been easy to work with.”

“We’re happy to,” Pellis replied. “Hobbie’s not the first traumatized patient we’ve dealt with before and he won’t be the last, sadly. I’m just glad he already has an existing support network. Far too many of our soldiers are utterly alone.”

“No kidding. Speaking of, Mai came by for an impromptu session,” Wes said, jabbing his thumb at the door he was standing next to. 

“Yes, I sent her an update letting her know we could discharge Hobbie today after I looked at his lab results,” Pellis said. “She and her colleagues often make the discharge process easier just by being present. He’ll continue seeing her after leaving?”

Wes nodded. “Yeah, we’re scheduled for at-home sessions for now but she mentioned yesterday she’s hoping to have him start traveling to see her in a few months.”

“Excellent. I think we have similar arrangements for getting the necessary samples for lab work and evaluations…” His voice trailing off, Pellis pulled his datapad out and activated it. He nodded a few moments later. “Yes, the order’s in place. A medical droid and nurse will come to your home in two weeks for the first evaluation. We’ll call to confirm a few days before so he can prepare with Mai. She’s actually going to be his most important medical provider for the foreseeable future, barrig of course, any sudden changes to Hobbie’s health.”

“Here’s hoping she sticks around.” Wes grinned at Pellis’s sudden cocked eyebrow. “Let’s just say that Hobbie has a terrible track record with women.”

Pellis’s laugh was short and dry, but also genuine sounding. His head bobbed in acknowledgement before he reached for the door chime. “Let’s see if they’re ready for us.”

Mai Yag’ana opened the door a few moments later, smiling as she greeted them. Wes flashed Hobbie a grin and a thumbs up as he trailed Pellis into the room, and was gratified to see Hobbie relax some at the gesture. 

Pellis moved to the room’s terminal and docked his datapad, syncing the device and pulling up Hobbie’s medical records. He ran through the labs in detail, noting the areas of improvement and detailing what they hoped to see in the future. He made sure Wes and Hobbie each received a copy of the records then moved on to discussing the benchmarks they would be using to clear him for new prosthetics.

“The devices you crafted on Hoth are excellent, given the limitations you were working under,” Pellis noted. “So while I will be sending you home with a hoverchair and would encourage you to use it if you feel you need the assistance, I don’t anticipate any significant changes to what you’re used to. The prosthetics team has tuned up your existing devices and I think you’ll be able to continue with them in much the same fashion. Hence why, when your physical health reaches these benchmarks,” he gestured towards the holographic chart hovering in front of them, “and you and Mai feel like it’s time, we’ll start introducing new prosthetics with your hands. Or hand, singular. We’ll make that determination at a later date.”

Hobbie stared at the chart. His light blue eyes were big and his skin even paler than usual. His gaze flickered down to his hands. His biggest struggle right now besides his mental health was the manual dexterity he’d lost due to the missing fingers, thumb, and nerve damage caused by the frostbite that had taken the digits. 

“That’s all in the future,” Pellis said, deactivating the chart. He powered down the terminal and pocketed his datapad, then pulled a chip out of the terminal’s reader port. “I’m much happier focusing on the  _ now _ because right now I’m happy to say that once these forms go through and you have a speeder lined up, you will be officially discharged, Hobbie.”

Wes took the chip when Hobbie went rigid. “We’ll get started on this right away,” he said. Hobbie managed a jerky nod a few moments later. “Thanks again for everything.”

Pellis’s gaze remained fixed on Wes for a moment, then shifted to Hobbie. “It’s been my pleasure and my honor to help you,” he said. “You have my contact information. Please, don’t hesitate to contact me if you have any questions or concerns going forward.”

With a final round of good-byes, Pellis left. 

Hobbie was still as stiff as a board and as pale as a ghost. Wes made sure he was in Hobbie’s sightline as he settled down to start working on the discharge datawork and kept an ear open as Mai coaxed Hobbie out of the panic he’d started working himself into. 

All that mattered right now was getting Hobbie home.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Title Cards for the 2020 WIP Big Bang](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26397304) by [Taste_is_Sweet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taste_is_Sweet/pseuds/Taste_is_Sweet)




End file.
